Heavy Magic Game by aFilthySmutWriter Septia

Heavy Magic Game

Heavy Magic Game

Written by Septia.

“You certain that you will come home alright, Fatina?”
Father asked me with his brow pre furrowed in worry at my nonchalant answer.
“It'll just be another day at Plug, pops. Think I'd actually care about some superfluous election?” Before I reached the door he embraced me, I wasn't so cold as to not reciprocate his affection.
“Be aware, you won't be my little girl forever.”
“I'm sure I'll be quite a big gal.” Then I felt him fiddling with my backpack, slipping something inside
“Just in case you need it,” he whispered so mom couldn't hear.

”I love that idiot,” I mumbled to myself as I found what dad had snuck in my packing: a full bottle of dragon mayo, whole fat, a canister clogged in calories. Suppose It'd be my ace in the hole, my mayo up the sleeve. Considering the phallic shape of the bottle, I'd rather not continue those lines of thoughts.

~ 1 ~

Had to admit, pops might have been onto something. The closer I got to Plug, the more human blimps converged, high schoolers stumbling with the grace of pregnant hippos reusing to give up their pre maternal outfits. The one's whose gut flab were sneaking out in the gaps between shirt buttons and straining their stiff skirts stood out. Others wore baggy clothes or cloaks to hide their extra bulk. I respected those who favoured subtlety; at a glance it was a challenge apart from the ones with prime, grade-A blubber swinging at their abdomens, and those who just wore ill fitted clothing which padded their assets. They banked on blending in with the crowd or have enough intimidation factor to avoid closer scrutiny.
“Outta my way, toothpicks, least you wanna become true to ya name.”
Thankfully, there were those who sought attention, like Tresa pushing through the crowd, muffin tops the girth of sofa cushions constrained in a retrofitted jumpsuit dress, used as battering rams against unsuspecting classmates. When miss brunette walrus passed me towards the entrance, her gaze passed me over. I caught it as a fly between thumb and forefinger. For a moment the smug grimace dipped into contemplation, but she didn't dwell on me. The intimidation game had already begun, the building ahead of us was a powder keg; how much of a spark was required to set it off, when we were all walking pouches of sulphur?

~ 2 ~

”I don't have anything,”
“Thinks ya can fool this snoot, ya twigbrain?”
I focused on picking out my study tomes, our Plug bullies wanted attention, and giving it would get you caught in the web.
“You know, of all that butter you stuff down your throat, I am surprised some of it went to your brain.”
“That's neat,” I mumbled, have to remember that one.
“What did you say, brat boy?” Then a pulse of magic rung through the corridor, followed by a pulse of air scented in sugar cherries bound with bacon. Eyes turned towards its source, I held up my backpack in reflex. The boy had been arguing with Aruna, a pony tailed redhead of a plump cherry; she weighed in at the upper middle grade of bodyfat. Cosmic adipose energy streamed from her arms, hoisting the boy up in an invisible force; his arms free to clasp around his neck, gagging and coughing. Fabric rippled, cloth tore and vibrated through his outfit, from the top and bottom his attire morphed, folded and bent, seams rearranging and patches torn and flipped… his clothes were being folded inside and out, as he still wore them, the mystical forces constraining his clothes to his frame as it warped in place. Even his backpack was being bent inside and out, its contents flooding out over the floor, along with his wallet and change he'd kept in his pockets. It was an impressive display of magic. Aruna laughed, her arms that rippling with energy, gradually deflating from the stuffed bratwursts plump logs, shrivelling to give off the aesthetic of boiled hotdogs. At which point she let the boy drop to his knees.
“Phaa, oaahs, hgha… haha…”
Even as he struggled, Aruna strut up and plucked up a bar of chocolate, still warping its wrapping inside out, swathed in the rich sugary treat.
“What? All of ‘This’ chocolate is your so called ‘nothing’,” she said, scouring up the collection of chocolate bars and crunching into them with authority. “Phhs, you even packed a lob of butter, what, projecting much?” The fatty sneered and munched down on her reward. “Whatfms, more, you think ya got a chance in the Election? Think Plug wants someone who sneaks around, keeping things from their classmates, you gotta know what’s what in this world, and know your voters as intellig-gha, ghaha-” Her speech was interrupted, seemingly forgetting her spell reverse packaged the wrapping in the chocolate bar, she'd gotten a ball of wrapped plastic stuck in her gullet. “Phaa, ullrs pha.” She heaved it up, patting her chest and clearing her throat. “So, yeah, what do you gotta say about that?” She retorted to the silence, then smeared the butter bar straight into the boy’s face, strutting off with her dignity on an overall net positive.
I shook my head. It was an impressive feat of determination and drive, showing off just how potent her fat magic was. Though, she banked on people only seeing her arms, and not batting at eye in the direction of her hips, where a fair bit of pudge had drained to power her feat. Thus, she seemed to hold more a great amount of power, while in reality, the stunt had surely cost her to go down in the rankings. Segmented spell fuelling, her technique was known, but effective, primarily because it was a staple in the base kit of any magician: misdirection. Shame that Aruna had directed more attention to herself through the stunt meaning more scrutiny… I felt over the bottle bulge in my backpack, considering the fact that the more you amassed, the bigger a target you made yourself.
“Fatina, everything in its right place, as per usual?” A voice popped up right next to me.
Speaking of attracting attention…

“Morning Tresa, I mumbled.
“You stoked for the Egg today, you know…” the swine of a girl leaned in, I felt her bulk's gravitational force ensnare me, “the Election of Gratuitous Generosity,” each word was savoured, suckled, deliberately placing each syllable as close to my ear as she could manage.
“That's not really my thing. you know.”
“Course, of course, you wear your allegiance on your sleeves, instead of that boy who kept a, shall we say, an ace in his backpack?”
I clutched my bag in reflex, cursing my involuntary action, if she didn't know before, she did now. Taffy… I was way behind in the game, had she suspected it from the glance before? “I don't strive to fit in as an Egg Head. S' a bit excessive.” As I turned to leave, I felt her sausage fingers constrict my wrist.
“Oh, I know a position your excess would fit into, perfectly…”
There was conviction in her voice, flavoured by a litre of malice. Taffy dang it. I concentrated and siphoned the little adipose tissue I stored to fill my curves. My wrist softened, drooling profusely of sweat that was enough to wick my wrist free from her clasp. Unlike some, I preferred to converse my chub instead of wasting on flair.
“Mfnfaaaawn-.” A growl, a moan, wood fixtures in the wall morphed into a maw in front of me, just as I slipped out of Tresa's grasp, the transmuted lips enveloped us.

~ 3 ~

”Teleportation…” I huffed, an arm on my shoulder, the sweat spell had drained more than I thought, I felt bone grind against bone in my elbow,
“Pretty nifty, right? It cost me nearly all of Yetta, though.” Tresa said, cradling her left breast, diminished to a third of the respective plump mass of sagging boobmeat.
“You named your tits?”
“Pff, silly girl,” Tresa stepped closer, pinning me to the wall with the gratuitous lard stored in her middle, “that would be silly, Yetta was boy who made my tit so gorgeous.”
Figures, cards on the table now, but then again we were stuck, alone, in a cleaning closet, so she couldflaunt as much as she wanted.
“You should also guess, bud, that if I was willing to sacrifice Yetta, I'd have a plan to replace them~~.”
Taffy… I swore in my head. “I am not your competition.”
“Sweetie, nor do I underestimate you, a clever thing like you, better served as a stepping stone to pad me out from my chest… to my…” then she began to turn, I dove my hand into my backpack on the ground, I just needed enough to get me out of here… But, there was no bottle.
“Ass,” -Bbwngn-.
Her cheeks smashed into me, the flakes of debris falling from the ceiling as her booty punched me into the wall.
-Oolug -Oompgh Gllgukr- I heard the glug lips nursing down a turbid liquid, Tresa peeking over her shoulder, dunking the contents of my Dragon mayo bottle down her greedy abyss.
“Mhms, phaa, oh yeah, you can really taste the dragon hormones in this thing, sweetie this might add to my chest just as much as you will, got any more secret stashes for me to indulge in?”
“Taffy…” I cursed, chewing my lip in worry.
“Thought as much,” she dropped the bottle and patted her chest -Bhuuraaalp- a belch soaked in oil and white pepper plumed from her jaw. “For real though, why’d you bother trying to escape, just means less fat for me to savour, winners are decided before you enter the battlefield, any more struggle, and you are just a fish in a barrel.”
“In that case, does this make you…” I mumbled, then grasped a hold of her jumpsuit dress,” a pig in a blanket?”
I savoured the confusion on her face, before her nose and lips were ensnared by wraps of cloth. Her arms pinning to her side, the rubber material moulding into itself, sprawling over the hills of her engorged body, spanning across bounds of muffintop and belly blubber, reeling it back under the clasp of tensile cloth. Her own fashion was working against her. The hog sealed in layers of overlapping fabric, their chub struggling a losing battle against the wraps moulded from her own outfit, cocooning her jiggling mounds of fat before her very eyes. This was heavy magic. Her clothes sealed in the range of her magic limited her abilities to utilise all that chub she'd bulked up with, without a connection to the surrounding air, she was trapped. Course, this wasn't enough to stop her, her confusion handled that part, she'd put herself high on a pedestal, just because I was skinny. How was it now, the bigger they are, the harder they fall? I kept her eyes uncovered, drinking in the fright I stirred up in her gaze, the rippling fright and confusion that surged from her eyes and bore a single question into my smirking countenance: how?
“Oldest trick in the book, “I flaunted, pulling my shirt, the reveal turning her face white.
“Mmw, chorshff?” I patted my corset, unbuckling it for the gut blubber to pump out in a wave of undulating fat, sighing in deep satisfaction that threatened to break my concentration, as my magic kept wrapping her up, the bulk I had held in rapidly sunk in and diminished, flowing into the wraps mummifying her chubby gestalt.
“Misdirection, even that dumb broad Aruna knew that.”
“Wmmwfg…”
She grunted, but her eyes were soon caught under the cloth, the impressive swine rolled up into a log of high fat sausage meat, -Ghrbslsl- -Chrlsllgsh- and my stomach was feeling mighty empty…

-Oompmg- -Ghrllssm- -Oompmgllrk- The swallows were involuntary at this point, my body aching to get a gasp of air through past the bulk of girl blubber. The sweet flavour of her meat was robbed from me by the folds of fabric-skin sealing in the stuffed sow, though I got some of her flavour through whenever I paused to gnaw – comparative to chewing on a bouncyball. -Mmpghhrlg- My gullet laid swollen past my chest, and as the wriggling sausage sunk below my ribs, she warped my abdomen around the magnitude of her mass.
“Mmfs, sht shtill,” I mumbled, as my lips suffuse over what I concluded was her priced hams. The one sumptuous girl was anything but, cocooned into a sausage mummy, devoured so close to her precious election.
“If yhoud justmmfs, galm, just shtuff to yhou own bhussnyss,” I lectured her whilst my stomach -Ghrbslltsh- gurgled at the invasion of flesh. My gut morphed and moulded as clay pumping up this oil, bobbing at her wriggling and shifts, the outlines of her frame ghosting over my skin, bulges refined and tracing along my bloated frame, only to sink back down into the sea of pudge. -Ghlmgps- -Bwbwhngsh- My stomach worbled and shuddered as I swallowed, each gulp eliciting a growl and budging of the dusky, bulbous torso.
My neck constrained, working down the wriggling bulk of girl meat with throbs and growls of greed, my cheeks inflated, gut a compiled waterbed bobbing in my lap, strenuous tears leaking down my face. I scoffed her down, shovelling at the end of the girl log, tucking her past my maw so my lips could contract, coming to a rest after the marathon crawl across her frame. Once I felt my lips touching one another, I swallowed in glee. -Ghllrmsmgh- my cheeks inverting and throat rustling with the shaking weight packed within, the last of the plump girl plugging through my plumbing, sinking away from my gullet, straight into the gutter.
“Mmpgsh. Phha… haaaw…” I grunted and huffed, tongue lulling out free as my fingers dipped and massaged into the mound of padding congesting my core. “Phe… pha… ho… Pops,” I mumbled, then brushed some spittle from my cheeks, “if you hadn’t skimped out on ya daughter, and packed two bottles, maybe Tresa here wouldn't have been so dry.”

~ 4 ~

I heard my father's footsteps before I even reached the door, opening it to welcome his darling back home, only to freeze in shock.
“Sweetie?”
I saw him eye to eye, my frame bulked up from this morning, hips bobbing an extra few kilos of fat to fill out my pants, hips broader, and chest up a size, most of my bulk, laid conglomerated at my abdomen, a taut corset – leased on its broadest latch – barely containing the raw lard packed away in the smooth hold of my skinsack of a stomach, jutted out past the reach of my arms, and in a continuous ripple of restless chub – the bulk constrained with the same tension Tresa’s mattress endured on a nightly basis.
“Sup pops, how's the day treating you?”
He gave me a another cursory glance, then stepped back to allow me entrance.
“All that from the one bottle?”
“Yup, I flashed a brief smirk as I met his glaze on the way in, “just gotta know how to use it.”

Heavy Magic Game

aFilthySmutWriter Septia

29 November 2019 at 19:51:53 MST

In a world where fat translate to magic, an ordinary day becomes a mind game, knowing who to watch out for, and who can be your next target.
The more magic a witch gains, the bigger a target she becomes.

Everything converges in Plug, the Place of Learning and Ubiquitous Guidance.

Proofreader for this story was Farley.

Blog for Weekly Updates.

Support on Patreon. Gain SepTia Silver in rewards over time, to purchase commissions with.
With your support, stories can keep coming, and you can influence what stories are written.
Large sized versions of Sep&Tia's stories Icons are available as donation Rewards.

[Character Quote: "People believe what they see, that's why it's easy to trick em." -]

[Quick guide:

Encouragement on the way to study.

After 1st: The game has already begun, chubby.

After 2nd: Display of magic, fatty mind games, an unexpected turn.

After 3rd: Taunting, teasing, post vore rubbing and humiliation. Chubby pred. Reversal, corset, huge tummy, oral vore, wrapped prey. Huge gut, reluctant soft vore.

After 4th: Epilogue, Weight gain, thanks given. ]

[Legend:

Cent: short term for centimetre.]

A sleek, pleasing, .docx version of this story can be downloaded by clicking this text.

New uploads every Friday.
Available for commissions.
afilthysmutwriterseptia afilthysmutwriterseptia

[Story preview:

Had to admit, pops might have been onto something. The closer I got to Plug, the more human blimps converged, high schoolers stumbling with the grace of pregnant hippos reusing to give up their pre maternal outfits. The one's whose gut flab were sneaking out in the gaps between shirt buttons and straining their stiff skirts stood out. Others wore baggy clothes or cloaks to hide their extra bulk. I respected those who favoured subtlety; at a glance it was a challenge apart from the ones with prime, grade-A blubber swinging at their abdomens, and those who just wore ill fitted clothing which padded their assets. They banked on blending in with the crowd or have enough intimidation factor to avoid closer scrutiny.
“Outta my way, toothpicks, least you wanna become true to ya name.”
Thankfully, there were those who sought attention, like Tresa pushing through the crowd, muffin tops the girth of sofa cushions constrained in a retrofitted jumpsuit dress, used as battering rams against unsuspecting classmates. When miss brunette walrus passed me towards the entrance, her gaze passed me over. I caught it as a fly between thumb and forefinger. For a moment the smug grimace dipped into contemplation, but she didn't dwell on me. The intimidation game had already begun, the building ahead of us was a powder keg; how much of a spark was required to set it off, when we were all walking pouches of sulphur?

Continued in the story above.]